


Adagio

by shiphitsthefan



Series: Pas de Trois [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #Hannictober, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dance, Autistic Will Graham, Ballet, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/pseuds/shiphitsthefan
Summary: Will reaches up to stroke the side of Hannibal’s face, and the way they’re standing, how their arms are positioned, leaning back in their partner’s arms as though they could dip each other simultaneously, both leading, both following—“I wish Madame would pair us,” says Hannibal, feeling as breathless as he sounds. Will is stunning like this, letting his weight fall further toward the floor, his back in a deep arc as he pulls Hannibal back to standing. Hannibal hears the whisper of Will’s sock-clad foot as it’s pulled across the tile; he’s seen the extension and reach of Will’s leg so many times, but never felt this unique tension in Will’s muscles before, never held Will’s thigh in his hand precisely like this.“So do I.” All of Hannibal’s thoughts are stifled in his throat when Will smiles coyly and lets his free arm drop, fingers touching the kitchen floor. “Though maybe I distract you too much to keep your feet focused.”“We’ve never led each other wrong before.”***A stand-alone Hannigram fic set in my Bedannigram danceverse, written for #Hannictober and #ThePumpkinIsPeople.





	Adagio

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know it's November. No, I don't care. This also strayed from the "apple picking" prompt, and I'm a day late posting, but I'm not caring too much about those, either.
> 
> #winning
> 
> If you haven't read the other parts of _[Pas de Trois](http://archiveofourown.org/series/845955),_ all you need to know is that Hannibal and Will live with Bedelia, and all three of them attend the same college and dance with the same ballet company. Everything is bright and beautiful, and Hannibal has no interest in eating either of them. Got it? Cool.
> 
> Thanks to [Llewcie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie/works) for the beta! <3

Will has been a frequent shopper at the Humane Society thrift store since he and Hannibal moved into the dorms freshman year. He isn’t a collector or a hoarder or anything like that, thankfully. Molly’s is more of a goods library for Will than a shop; when he’s finished with whatever he’s purchased, it goes into his donation box, which ultimately returns to the thrift store.

The arrangement suits Will perfectly. He not only dislikes buying anything brand new or mass-produced, but also has a good eye for a deal and a knack for finding high-quality items among the largely disorganized racks. Even Hannibal has been impressed with some of the little gifts Will occasionally finds for Bedelia and him: a vintage pearl necklace; a silk handkerchief, still in its original box; some truly beautiful stemware that they break out for various celebrations.

Will’s purchases are typically more run-of-the-mill, the hipster fare that’s expected of their generation. He brings in t-shirts for races he never ran, and vinyls Will swears he’s saving for when he finally finds a console stereo in decent enough condition to justify tinkering with it. His vintage green bicycle was thrifted, too, as were half the paperbacks on his bookshelves, out-of-print science fiction and multiple copies of the same Vonnegut books, all with different covers.

Inevitably, Will also drags home enormous tufts of cat hair on his tees and jeans due to the store’s resident cats, but Will would likely find some way to decorate himself in shed animal fur no matter what. Or worse, he’d bring home another dog, though Hannibal has grown rather fond of Encephalitis. 

Today, however, Will’s white plastic bag, emblazoned with THANK YOU in big, bold red letters, holds neither pet nor paper. Instead, it’s stuffed full of ancient bakeware.

“You are aware that we have a more than sufficient array of baking sheets, yes?” asks Hannibal, turning his attention back to his saucepan.

Will snorts. “Pretty sure you wouldn’t want me beating the shit out of your French black steel, Hanni.” His bag clatters and clangs on the kitchen table. “Never mind that they’re the wrong color.”

“For?”

“Making a hat.”

Hannibal briefly stops stirring. “A hat.” Will only hums in reply, dragging out a cookie sheet and a colander that had seen better days. “Do I want to know what  _ sort _ of hat?”

But Will doesn’t answer. “Did Beddie ever put the hammer back in the tool box?” he asks, instead.

That’s more alarming than Will’s potential fashion disaster. “Why did she have need of the hammer?”

“Sorority stuff?” He shrugs, upturning the bag and dumping out the rest of his purchases, mostly different shades and textures of flannel. “I don’t know. It’s usually better not to ask. No criminal liability that way in case she and her sisters are committing ritual homicide or something.”

“You make Greek life sound far more interesting than it actually is, my wee man.” Hannibal adores the way his nickname makes Will smile, a wide, happy curve that stretches across his face. Will’s smile has always been beautiful, for as long as Hannibal can remember knowing him. He stirs the milk on autopilot, his full focus on Will. “Explain your craft project to me.”

“Well,” Will begins, “I need a tin hat for my costume—Bev  _ insists _ that I have to be costumed to hand out candy with her—and I hate the grocery store, and Wal-Mart’s too loud and too big—”

“And also Wal-Mart,” interrupts Hannibal with a poorly concealed shudder.

“—And also Wal-Mart. Plus the only tin pans would be those disposable foil ones, and I’m not dressing up as an alien conspiracy theorist. Figured I could use this as the form,” he says, holding up the colander, “and this will be the material for the hat. I can hammer out a brim for it and everything.” Will brandishes the pan at Hannibal, turning it over, back and forth, as though admiring the rust. “It’ll need to be salted and limed first.”

Hannibal glances back down at the milk, then over at the heat setting. Frowning, he turns it on. “This won’t involve tequila again, I hope?” he asks, thinking back to when they cleaned Will’s thrifted bicycle.

“But you had so much fun that night!”

“I also vowed never to drink with Molly again,” Hannibal reminds him. He’s not sure why he’s still stirring the milk; it’s hardly at risk of scalding.

Will keeps giggling. “Fine,” he says, “fine. No tequila, and no fun. Anyway, salt, lime, sandpaper to polish.Or maybe I should keep it simple and just steal Beddie’s silver spray paint to finish it off.”

Moving the saucepan off of the hot eye, Hannibal asks, “Why does she have spray—”

“Demon-summoning,” says Will, clearly disinterested. “Satan-worshiping. General cultist activity.”

Will’s disdain for Greek organizations never fails to amuse Hannibal. “I thought you weren’t going as a conspiracy theorist.”

“I’m not.”

“So what are you dressing up as?”

“Johnny Appleseed.” Before Hannibal can ask why, Will tells him, “Because no one else will have that costume.”

“I should think not.” Hannibal turns the heat up again, then starts sorting through the little magnetic containers of spices attached to the side of the cupboard. “Didn't Chapman wear a pot on his head?”

“Common misconception,” says Will. “He had a tin hat that he ate cornmeal mush out of.” Hannibal hears Will ripping fabric, hopefully on purpose. “But he did go barefoot and wear rags, so I'll be doing that, too.” 

Hannibal considers the nutmeg. “And what—”

“That makes removing the rust and polishing the metal kind of over-the-top, huh?” Will coughs, then chuckles, which makes him cough again. “But complicated projects are fun, aren’t they?”

“The longer the game, the greater the reward.” He finally locates the cinnamon, stuck in with the savory herbs. All of Hannibal’s spices have been alphabetized, likely by Will’s idle hands. “What is Beverly greeting trick-or-treaters as?”

“A bag of apples. I tried to get her to go as a bottle of applejack—that’s what the apples he planted were used for—but she said it probably wasn’t appropriate to give candy to elementary schoolers dressed up as a bottle of alcohol.”

“I admire both her wisdom and her restraint.”

“We’re going to drink some after we turn off the porch light, though.” Will’s managed to creep up behind Hannibal in his moment of silence, hugging him from behind on his tiptoes. “What are you making?”

Hannibal cranes his head to the side to look at Will; his pupils are dilated, probably from smoking a bowl behind the thrift store with the owner. It eases Hannibal’s own trepidation, knowing that there are other people in the world looking out for his Will. Molly has been a good influence, regardless of how Hannibal feels about her personally. He finds her difficult to tolerate—especially when engaged in mortal combat over a game of quarters; the woman’s luck runs too high—but Will actually goes out into the off-campus world on his own now. Molly has given him a sense of independence that Hannibal and Bedelia weren’t able to foster, and it isn’t just because of the bicycle she gave Will to tinker with.

The scent of burnt milk is overwhelming, pulling Hannibal away from Will’s glassy, red-rimmed eyes.

“I honestly don’t know what I was planning to do with this,” he admits, side-eyeing the ruined...whatever it might have been.

“Stress cooking?” guesses Will, and Hannibal nods tightly, turning to embrace him. “Midterms?”

“What else?”

Will reaches up to stroke the side of Hannibal’s face, and the way they’re standing, how their arms are positioned, leaning back in their partner’s arms as though they could dip each other simultaneously, both leading, both following—

“They’re still a month away, love,” Will says softly. His hand passes from Hannibal’s face to the back of his neck. “You’ll be fine.”

“I wish Madame would pair us,” and Hannibal feels as breathless as he sounds. He opens his mouth to continue, but there are no words. Will is stunning like this, letting his weight fall further toward the floor, his back in a deep arc as he pulls Hannibal back to standing. Hannibal hears the whisper of Will’s sock-clad foot as it’s pulled across the tile; he’s seen the extension and reach of Will’s leg so many times, but never felt this unique tension in Will’s muscles before, never held Will’s thigh in his hand precisely like this.

“So do I.” All of Hannibal’s thoughts are stifled in his throat when Will smiles coyly and lets his free arm drop, fingers touching the kitchen floor. “Though maybe I distract you too much to keep your feet focused.”

“We’ve never led each other wrong before.”

The apples of Will’s cheeks flush. It will creep down his neck and chest soon enough. “Hannibal?”

“Yes?”

“A thought.”

“I’d assumed as much.”

Will licks his lips, the tip of his tongue tracing along the seam of his mouth. “We could go stress make-out, instead. Less chance of accidentally burning down the kitchen. Or we could stress undress each other and then you could stress make love to me.”

And that sounds like an infinitely better use of Hannibal’s time.

**Author's Note:**

> [[post on tumblr](https://shiphitsthefan.tumblr.com/post/167219292154/thepumpkinispeoplehannictober-adagio)]
> 
> ***
> 
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> 
> Kudos and [comments](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shiphitsthefan/profile) validate my existence. <3


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